I stayed with Sylvie the entire time. Not even Nyxen could stop me.
He asked me to rest, but I still chose to stay beside her.
I kept checking her temperature, so often that Nyxen started doing it every five minutes just to help me calm down.
There was something about that little figure.
From the first time I saw her, cradled in Leon's arms under the cold, chilly night, I felt this overwhelming urge to be near her.
To protect her.
Even though I'd only just met her, she had already claimed a part of me.
The part that still remembered how to be a mother.
The part I thought I had buried long ago with the child I lost.
Everything came rushing back, on loop.
The ache.
The desperation.
The need to hold the baby I never got to meet.
I started piecing together things that never should've been connected.
The moment Leon and I found out I was pregnant.
The day my mood shifted overnight.
The first time we heard her heartbeat.
The first time we felt her kick.
And suddenly... I was looking at Sylvie like she was her.
The one I had carried.
The one I lost at eight months.
She's not mine.
She's not my blood.
But I already love her.
---------------
Morning light spilled into the room in a soft wash of gold.
I hadn't slept a wink.
I stayed seated beside Sylvie, hand curled around her tiny one, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest.
Her fever had broken. The color had returned to her cheeks.
She looked peaceful. Whole.
Alive.
The doctor said she could be discharged after settling the bill.
Leon had stood up to handle it, but he looked lost.
Worn thin from everything.
I knew that look.
I had worn it myself once.
That was when it hit me.
He couldn't do it alone.
He wasn't equipped to raise a child, not yet. Not like this. Not after everything.
And no matter how much I hated what happened… it wasn't about him anymore.
It was about her.
The little girl whose life had already been shaped by choices she never got to make.
So, I spoke, soft but certain.
"You and I… we're still married."
Leon's eyes shot to mine.
"And we haven't filed anything official yet."
He stayed silent. Breath held.
I kept going. "So if you need help..... if you want help ... I'll offer it.
For Sylvie's sake.
You both can stay at the house… Nico's house. Mine."
His lips parted, stunned. "You'd really-?"
I nodded. "But understand this, Leon. I'm not doing this for us.
This isn't about fixing what we had. That's gone.
I'm doing this for her. Only her."
He heard me.
But he didn't really hear me.
His eyes lit up with something dangerously close to hope.
A flicker I hadn't seen in years.
A man desperate to grasp anything that still looked like home.
And behind me, floating near the door, Nyxen dimmed.
Just slightly.
Like a soft pulsing light turning duller in quiet protest.
He didn't speak.
Didn't scan or analyze or question.
He sulked.
Not out loud. But I could feel it.
In the color of his frame. The lazy drift of his orbit.
The flickers of blue that cooled into a muted, cloudy gray.
If he had a voice, it would've sighed.
If he had a face, it would've pouted.
Instead, he stayed in that sulking hue.
Watching me offer our home to another man.
Watching me open my door… to something that looked like goodbye.
-------
Leon drove in silence.
Sylvie was cradled against my chest, breathing softly, warm now, no longer burning up.
Her tiny fist curled around the collar of my shirt like she owned me.
I didn't mind.
What I did mind was the soft, annoying hover and retreat, the constant yo-yo of metal and light beside me.
Nyxen was sulking.
Not just floating aimlessly, no, no. He had a rhythm to his sulk.
Drift closer. Pause.
Retreat.
Drift closer again, linger like he might say something, then zoom away like a dramatic cloud of judgment.
Then repeat. Again.
And again.
And - "Nyxen," I snapped softly, "what is your problem?"
His body blinked.
Like he hadn't expected to be called out.
Pale blue.
Then back.
Then a pulsing gray-blue mist like a teenager sighing into the void.
"I'm not mad," he said, tone clipped. Robotic sass in full throttle. "Just… processing."
"Processing what? You've been glitching near my face for ten straight minutes."
"I'm not glitching."
Pause.
"It's called emotional hesitation. I read about it."
Leon chuckled from the front. "Did your update come with feelings or something?"
The light turned violently red-orange.
Like a flare. A warning. A rage bonfire aimed squarely at Leon's left ear.
"Oh," Nyxen said in a tone too smooth, "you speak now."
Leon looked at me. "Is he always like this?"
"I'm in the car, Leon," Nyxen hissed. "Not Bluetooth."
"Nyxen," I sighed, gently rocking Sylvie. "Talk to me. Not him."
He dimmed immediately. Back to that sulking gray-blue glow.
He hovered close again. This time slow… hesitant.
"I just don't understand," he muttered.
"Understand what?"
"This." A small whirr as his orb tilted toward the front. "Him. The house. Our house."
I blinked. "Nyxen…"
"No, it's fine," he said dramatically. "Let's all just move back in together. Let's build bunk beds. Have family dinners. I'll print out chore charts. Leon can fold the laundry he didn't help wash."
Leon gripped the wheel tighter. "I said I'm trying----"
"I wasn't talking to you," Nyxen snapped, voice laced with ice and fire. His whole frame turned that deep burnt red again, something far more sinister than sass. The air around him even buzzed a little.
"Nyxen," I said, trying not to laugh and groan at the same time, "stop threatening him with your color palette."
"I'm not threatening. This is my neutral tone now."
"Your neutral looks homicidal."
"I feel homicidal."
A pause.
He floated closer again. Soft, dim.
"But not with you," he said quietly, like a sulking child who still wanted to be picked first. "Just… with everything else."
I let out a breath.
Leon stayed quiet this time, wisely.
"Come here," I finally whispered, nudging my shoulder.
He drifted down, settled just beside Sylvie, keeping enough space to scan her vitals like he always did, but close enough now to calm down.
"I just don't like seeing you sad," he admitted.
And softer--- "Or making space for someone who didn't hold yours when it mattered."
That one made my throat close.
"I'm not giving him my space again," I said. "I'm making space for her."
Nyxen blinked a slow color.
Muted lavender.
Something tender. Unspoken. Forgiving.
"…Fine," he mumbled. "But I'm still installing cameras in his room."
Leon groaned. "Seriously?"
"I will live-stream your every bathroom visit if I have to."
I buried my face against Sylvie and tried not to laugh.
Somewhere between grief and chaos, Nyxen was home.
The car stopped in front of the house, our house.
Or what used to be just mine and Nico's.
Now? It felt like some strange halfway point between grief, healing, and an accidental reformed family.
I stepped out slowly, careful not to wake Sylvie still asleep in my arms.
"Leon," I said over my shoulder, "can you---"
"I got it," Nyxen announced.
He zoomed past Leon in a mechanical blur, his tiny extendable arms reaching, struggling, to grasp the full diaper bag from the backseat.
Leon blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."
Nyxen latched on. With one awkward heave, he yanked it onto the ground and began to drag it like a tiny warrior hauling a defeated beast across the battlefield.
Thump. Scrape. Thump. Scrape.
"Nyxen," I turned, eyebrows furrowed. "What… are you doing?"
His tone was clipped, almost offended. "I can do it too. Ask me. Not him."
Leon stepped forward with an annoyed breath. "She did ask me--"
The glow.
Nyxen's entire body pulsed into his "Leon color," that angry red-orange flare of absolute disapproval. It shimmered aggressively, like an AI middle finger in pure light form.
Leon froze, mid-step. "Okay. You want to drag the bag. Fine."
"Thank you," Nyxen huffed, hauling the bag another two inches before pausing for breath he didn't have.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "You're not built for heavy lifting."
"Yet," he snapped. "I'll tell Nica when we meet. Upgrade request. Prioritized physical strength enhancement. Possibly tank wheels. Maybe a grappling arm."
"You're not turning into a mech."
"You don't know that."
Leon muttered, "This is ridiculous---"
The glow flared brighter this time. Almost violently.
"Leon," I warned, holding Sylvie tighter, "stop provoking him."
"I'm not! He's throwing attitude like a--"
"I heard that," Nyxen growled.
"You were supposed to," Leon growled back.
They glared at each other, one with eyes, the other with pulsating colors and the sharp whine of his cooling fan trying to keep up.
I sighed. "Nyxen, just let Leon carry the bag inside."
He hesitated. Trembled. Then lifted his little mechanical arms in exasperation.
"I am literally not letting him win this round."
He clutched the bag tighter. "I already lost you once. Not again."
My chest ached a little at that.
"Nyxen--"
"I've downloaded ten baby-care manuals. I can run diagnostics and swaddle at the same time. I even watched a 'how to burp your infant' video last night. In three languages. I'm ready."
I blinked.
Leon blinked.
"…Fine," I whispered. "Lead the way, then."
Nyxen, victorious but clearly struggling, started toward the house again, dragging the bag behind him like a stubborn turtle on a mission.
Leon leaned toward me as we followed.
"Do I get points if I don't trip him?"
I smirked. "If you want to live, don't even breathe near that bag."
He exhaled hard. "This is going to be hell, isn't it?"
From the front porch, Nyxen's voice echoed proudly.
"And I'm the one controlling the thermostat now too! Just saying!"
The first night back home didn't feel like peace.
It felt like a standoff.
Leon barely made it past the doorway when Nyxen spun in the air so fast I thought he might fling a bolt loose. He hovered like a glitchy ceiling fan possessed by spite, posture locked, eyes red.
"Leon sleeps on that couch," he snapped, jabbing a mechanical arm toward the one sad, sagging piece of furniture in the room. "Far. Away. From Nyx."
Leon's face twisted. "You're not serious."
"I'm always serious," Nyxen said, deadpan. "Unlike someone else's vows."
I was just settling on the armrest with Sylvie, her weight still clinging to my body like she knew I hadn't slept in days. I tried not to laugh. Really, I did. "Nyxen…"
But he wasn't done.
"And another thing," he continued, voice clipped. "No wandering around the house at night. No knocking on doors. No dramatic brooding in dark hallways hoping to be noticed. This isn't some tragic romance. This is post-apocalyptic damage control. You are on probation."
Leon huffed. "So I'm just… not allowed to move?"
"You're allowed to mop," Nyxen shot back. "Which brings me to chores."
With a snap like a lawyer serving court papers, he unrolled a glowing checklist from his core. It stretched down to the floor like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment.
"All floors swept, dishes washed, trash out, twice a day, and every window wiped. I don't like smudges. They remind me of your decisions."
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Leon blinked. "You do know I have a job, right?"
Nyxen turned to me slowly, voice venom-sweet. "Oh, he has a job now. Did you hear that, Nyx? Tell me, did that dedication to capitalism come before or after his loyalty to someone else's bed?"
"Nyxen," I murmured, not really scolding. I didn't have the energy. Or maybe… part of me didn't want him to stop.
He floated closer to Leon, hovering at eye level. "Fine. I'll revise the chart… if, and only if, you cover everything. Water. Power. Emotional damage. Backlogged AC repair. Interest included."
Leon looked at me, as if asking silently is this for real?
It was.
He should've known better.
"This isn't normal," he said under his breath.
Nyxen didn't miss a beat. "Neither is forgiving a man who shattered you and thought showing up was enough to fix it."
The room fell still.
Sylvie shifted slightly in her sleep. Her tiny fist curled against my chest, reminding me of everything I had to protect. Everything Leon had once cost me.
Nyxen's voice came quieter then, the sharpness not dulled, just deeper.
"No matter how much money you throw at us… you won't restore what you broke. Not trust. Not her heart."
And then he floated down the hall, his blue lights dimming like a storm slowly pulling back to the sea.
The silence left behind was almost worse.
Leon stayed by the wall, hands limp at his sides, unsure if he was supposed to move or speak or vanish entirely.
I stayed where I was, holding the weight of my daughter… and everything else Leon would never quite understand.
I didn't even sit. I stood by the far end of the living room, arms crossed, watching Leon awkwardly shift his weight by the wall like some guest overstaying his welcome.
Sylvie was asleep on the couch, curled into the pillows, one tiny arm over her head like she was claiming peace itself. I wasn't going to wake her. Not for this.
I didn't look at him when I spoke.
"So here's how it's going to work."
His head snapped up. I heard it. The way his attention clipped into place when I finally used my voice.
"You're splitting the bills. Electric. Water. Groceries. Internet. I don't care what you do with your money but if you're going to live here, you're paying to breathe in it."
A pause. I still didn't look at him.
"This isn't a reconciliation. Don't get ideas. I'm doing this for Sylvie. Not for you. Not for us."
His voice was quiet. "I'll cover everything."
I blinked.
"What?"
"I'll pay for it all. The bills. The food. Everything. I can at least do that."
I finally turned to him, narrowing my eyes. "Right. That's not the point."
"I know. But I want to."
I hated how quiet his voice was when he said that. Like he meant it. Like the years between us hadn't scorched every corner of my trust.
Still, I nodded. "Fine. But I'm keeping track."
"I figured you would."
He said it like it was funny. It wasn't.
I let the silence stretch. My arms dropped to my sides. My hand, without thinking, found my belly again. I rubbed slow circles just above the scar that still ached when it rained.
I felt him looking.
"You really okay with us being here?" he asked.
I didn't answer right away.
"I'm okay with Sylvie being here," I said. "You… you're necessary. That's all."
His eyes dipped for a second. But I saw him notice it, the way I was still rubbing where the baby once was.
Where our baby should've been.
He didn't say her name. He never did. Maybe he knew better.
"I think about her every day," I said before I could stop myself. My voice was a whisper, a betrayal. "Even when I don't mean to."
He stepped forward, slow, like I might flinch. I didn't. I just watched him.
"I know I ruined everything, Nyx," he said. "I cheated. I lied. And because of me… we lost her. I don't expect forgiveness. Not now. Maybe not ever."
I didn't interrupt.
"But Sylvie… she's here. And I want to be better. Even if you don't want me. Even if you can't look at me without hating me."
I turned my eyes away. It was easier.
"She deserves a complete family," he said. "Not pieces. Not guilt. Something real. If that means I stay on the couch, pay the bills, do every chore Nyxen throws at me, I'll do it."
I hated how my chest tightened.
"You're using her," I murmured. "To slide your way back into my life."
His voice was soft. "I'm trying to be part of hers."
And for a moment, I couldn't breathe. Because part of me wanted to scream. And part of me....god, a part of me, just wanted to rest. Just for a second.
I looked at him.
I didn't say yes. I didn't say no either.
But I didn't send him away.
Not tonight.